Chapter Seventeen: Ten Paces, One Kill

Moonlight washed over the room, casting its gentle glow. Yun Cuixian gazed at Chu Youcai’s face; he slept with a quiet, deep calm that gave her a sense of reassurance.

Softly, she murmured, “When the sea is bright with moonlight, pearls shed tears; under the warm sun of Lantian, jade gives off mist. Such feelings may await remembrance, yet now they are already lost.” Lost in reverie, her eyes, luminous and complex in the moonlight, recalled the first time she read this poem—how it had shaken her. Now, beneath this bright moon, the words tasted different. In this moment, she found herself moved by the man before her. Yet, had his feelings for her already become mere memories? How much sorrow weighed upon his heart?

She gripped Chu Youcai’s hand, her heart brimming with pity.

Just then, she suddenly heard him murmuring a poem in his sleep, his voice indistinct, yet as she listened closely, the words grew clear, filled with an air of heroic abandon: “With a single strike, ten paces, a man falls; a thousand miles, I leave no trace. Once my deed is done, I brush my sleeves and go, hiding both myself and my name…”

Yun Cuixian could hardly believe this was Chu Youcai’s verse. She knew of his great talent, and that he could compose such tender, graceful poetry had already seemed remarkable. But now, he had transformed from gentle lyricism to such bold, resounding heroism—two contrasting styles, yet he wielded both with such ease?

In the past year, she had resigned herself to this marriage. Even if Chu Youcai was a wastrel, even if he was unfaithful, she was already his wife. However brilliant or wise she may have been before, she had accepted her fate. Yet inside, she still hoped for something—was it the lingering tenderness of poetry, or the dream that someday a hero she admired might walk beside her?

Since childhood, no one had known that what she loved most, deep in her bones, was the heroic spirit. That was why she especially admired the Lady Shangguan, though the lady was cold and distant to everyone.

Now, she felt as though she had touched something profound.

What she yearned for had always been by her side. She smiled, suddenly feeling warmth bloom within her, and nestled quietly in Chu Youcai’s arms, drifting into a deep, peaceful sleep.

At dawn, Yun Cuixian awoke early. Seeing that Chu Youcai still slept soundly, she rose quietly, careful not to disturb him, and summoned the physician to check on Hongyu.

The doctor took Hongyu’s pulse and was amazed—the illness had vanished. Now, she was only weak and needed to recuperate; he prescribed a few restorative medicines and left, marveling aloud as he went.

Only then did Yun Cuixian relax. She went out into the courtyard, her mind clear, and recalling Chu Youcai’s poem from last night, she could not help but write it out on the stone table.

Her calligraphy was delicate and elegant, but as she wrote this poem, there was a sweeping vigor in her strokes, as though the words themselves might take flight.

“Ah?” A voice of surprise sounded at her side.

Startled, Yun Cuixian turned to see Lady Shangguan standing there, her gaze grave as she studied the words. “Did you write this, sister?”

Yun Cuixian shook her head, her eyes still on the calligraphy. “Ten paces, one slain”—such overwhelming grandeur. She said softly, “It was my husband who composed it.”

From their first meeting, this neighborly heroine had struck Yun Cuixian with her beauty. Knowing Lady Shangguan’s martial prowess, she admired her all the more. Though the lady was cold to everyone, Yun Cuixian still felt a fondness for her.

But when it came to Chu Youcai, Lady Shangguan’s cold contempt made Yun Cuixian instinctively want to defend him. Yet yesterday, when she brought out Chu Youcai’s “Brocade Zither,” she saw Lady Shangguan’s expression soften, which filled her with inexplicable joy. And now, as Lady Shangguan happened upon this poem, it was a remarkable coincidence.

Surely Lady Shangguan would be surprised, perhaps even fond of this verse? After all, it seemed written for a heroine just like her.

But to her astonishment, Lady Shangguan seemed entranced, as if spellbound by the poem, murmuring its lines, completely absorbed in another world.

After a long while, Lady Shangguan finally lifted her head, her gaze complex and troubled. “Did your husband truly write this?”

“Cuixian would never lie,” Yun Cuixian replied earnestly. Though she found the poem bold and dazzling, now she wondered if she had underestimated its power.

After another long silence, Lady Shangguan’s expression returned to its icy reserve. Yet she shook her head, saying, “Such heroic spirit belongs only to the world’s true warriors, men who have slain thousands and pressed ever forward. How could he have composed this? Impossible, impossible…” Doubt flickered in her eyes as she turned to leave the courtyard, murmuring, “I’ve left the medicine on the stone table.”

On the table sat a bottle of healing pills—clearly brought for Hongyu out of concern.

Watching Lady Shangguan’s retreating figure, Yun Cuixian felt a surge of gratitude, but also new doubts about the poem. To see another so astonished was gratifying, but as Lady Shangguan had said—could Chu Youcai truly be a hero who had slain countless evildoers? Or was this poem the work of some gallant friend of his?

She longed to know the truth.

Just then, she heard sounds from inside—the noise of Chu Youcai rising.

Chu Youcai awoke from his dreams, feeling an unspeakable weariness. In the space of the Black Dragon’s River Pearl, he had spent a year of his lifespan, leaving only five years now. Yet within, he felt a peculiar joy.

A year of cultivation in that space had greatly enhanced his strength, his resistance to seductive demonic influences, his mastery over the Black Dragon’s River Pearl, and his experience in deadly duels with the serpent’s shadowy head.

“To seek out Lei Yinyang—this battle is inevitable. For the women he has abducted, for the traps he set for me, for his covetous gaze on Yun Cuixian—I cannot retreat!”

Chu Youcai had made his decision.

Yet soon he calmed. After so many battles, he would not let emotion rule him. Though he had advanced, Lei Yinyang was still far stronger. He would have to rely on cunning.

But how?

He recalled the moment in that space when Li Shizhen finally slew the python—how Li had severed his doubts. Inspiration struck: “Can hide in shadow, fears the bright light.” Many ideas poured forth, gradually weaving themselves into workable plans.

He had made up his mind.

He let out a small sigh of relief. Now, he must simply ensure that Yun Cuixian and the others noticed nothing amiss, to spare them worry. At the same time, he needed to rest and restore his strength. Tomorrow was not only the final day for repayment, but the day of his duel with Lei Yinyang.

Chu Youcai rose from bed.

Yun Cuixian hurried in, helping him dress and wash with practiced care. After seeing him eat a pastry, she finally voiced her question: “Husband, last night I heard you recite a poem in your sleep—‘with a single strike, ten paces, a man falls.’ Was it truly your own composition?”